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Monday, May 15, 2017

One Step at a Time

THE IDEA

November 4, 2015

Last Wednesday night I set out to do something that I had never done before and that I didn’t know if I could actually do. My plan was to run the Tuna Run 200 Relay Race that starts in Raleigh, NC, and follows 200 miles of back roads to Atlantic Beach, NC. Instead of running it as part of a relay team, my plan was to run the entire 200 miles by myself.

Okay, I guess I have to address the obvious question, “Why would I want to run 200 miles all at once and by myself?” The answer is complicated. While I have completed dozens of marathons and have multiple 100-mile finishes under my belt, I felt the need to push the envelope, to try something ridiculous and out of reach. Something that scared me. Running twice as far as I had ever run before certainly qualified as scary, at least to me.

The second and much more important reason I decide to do this was to raise money for Healing Transitions, which is a non-profit organization whose mission is to offer innovative, peer-based, recovery-oriented services to homeless and underserved men and women with alcoholism and other drug additions. The program is specifically designed to rekindle a person’s hope, desire, and ability to live a meaningful and productive life.

As many of you know, my wife is a recovering alcoholic who struggled with her addiction for two decades before she finally got the help she needed. I have seen first-hand the devastation and destruction that addiction can bring. I have also seen that there is hope and recovery from this terrible and often misunderstood disease. I am incredibly proud of my wife and all that she has done to get and stay sober. While she is in a good place now, there are many who aren’t, and Healing Transitions helps those who need it the most.

I could think of no better charity to support and no better metaphor for both life and recovery than running 200 miles. The journey was guaranteed to be hard, seemingly impossible at times, but one that could be accomplished with the right mindset, by being in the moment and by taking it one step at a time. In short, I was running to honor my wife, and all those like her, and to help those who are still sick and suffering from addiction to drugs and alcohol.

THE RUN

Most of my race reports go into tremendous detail about my experiences during the run. This will not be one of those reports for two reasons. The first is that this was such an amazing experience that I could write 100 pages and not accurately express what I experienced and learned. The second is that it took so freaking long, and I was out of it for a lot of it, so it would be impossible to reproduce an accurate and compelling narrative. So instead, let’s just hit the highlights. (There are still quite a few of them.)

I started at 7pm Wednesday night, one hour behind the only other solo runner, Jeff Bell, and 35 hours ahead of the first relay team. My goal was to make it to the finish line in 70 hours or less, which would mean getting there before 5pm Saturday.

I had an INCREDIBLE crew, made up of friends and coworkers who took time away from work and loved ones to help me. I was, and remain, truly humbled by their selfless sacrifice.

I ran through Wednesday night and all day on Thursday, taking only short breaks for food and gear changes.

I caught and passed Jeff about 20 miles into the run, wished him luck and told him I expected to see him again before we hit the beach.

I covered the first 100 miles in a bit over 25 hours, which was right on schedule.

Around 27 hours I finally decided to lie down in the van for a 20-minute nap, which turned into a 25-minute nap. That nap was trippy and weird with lots of strange dreams and amazingly vivid images floating around in my head.

I continued on through Thursday night before stopping a couple of hours before sunrise to sleep for two hours.

When I woke up from that nap my body was really pissed off with me. It must have thought we were finished and tried everything it could think of to convince me to stop. This was the one and only time during the entire run that I threw up. That’s real progress for me.

As the sun came up Friday morning and my circadian rhythms kicked in, I began to feel much better.

Friday was a very long day, especially when I allowed myself to think that I could be at it until 5pm on Saturday. When those thoughts would occur to me, I would push them aside and just keep moving forward.

By this point my body decided to try everything it could think of to get me to stop. My feet hurt, my shins hurt, the backs of my knees hurt, my quads hurt, my hips hurt, my back hurt, my shoulders hurt, my neck hurt. It seemed like my body kept trying different combinations of pain to get me to stop. The pain shifted around but was always present.

Instead of allowing the pain to cause suffering, I focused on the pain as a sensation that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant but just a sensation without judgment. During an event like this, when you really focus on pain long enough it begins to change into something else, something less unpleasant. It’s like saying a word over and over again until it loses all meaning. “Tartlet, tartlet, tartlet. The word has lost all meaning.”

By Friday my crew had decided that I shouldn’t be alone, so someone was always with me to make sure I didn’t get lost or wander into traffic. That was probably a really good call on their part.

The relay teams started in waves at 6am on Friday, so by Friday night I began to wonder when they would overtake me.

As Friday afternoon and early evening wore on, I began to get more and more excited as the miles to go got smaller and more manageable. Up to 175 miles in, I would not allow myself to seriously consider how far I had to go. If I did that at 115 miles in with 85 still to go, I was worried my head would break.

Instead of thinking about how much farther I had to go, I focused on where I was at the moment and concentrated on one step at a time. When things got difficult, and they did several times, I did two things:

I simply counted my steps as long as I could before I lost count and had to start over. I would repeat this simple action over and over again to keep moving forward and take my mind off where I was or how much more I had to go.

I constantly reminded myself that things would get better. No matter how good or bad things are at any given moment, there is one thing you can count on, neither will last.

Late Friday evening Jeff caught me at an exchange zone. He was able to move a lot better than I was at that time and pulled ahead quickly. I was a bit disappointed because I had hoped to finish first and set a new course record, but I was really happy for him that he was having such a great race, and I knew I was still in good shape to finish the run.

I caught him at the next exchange zone and we headed out together before he quickly pulled away from us. I didn’t expect to see him again until I crossed the finish line sometime Saturday.

Early Saturday morning, a couple of hours before it got light, I slept for another 20 minutes.

After my wake up call, I headed out into the darkness again. By this time I was completely fried. The nap had not done much to rejuvenate me. Mike and I kept making progress. Ever forward. We crossed the bridge over the Inter Coastal Waterway and onto Emerald Isle. It felt good to finally be at the coast, but I still had a long way to go.

I took a quick break at the first exchange zone after the bridge and ate a bacon and egg biscuit from McDonalds. I thought the fat and protein and carbs would be just what I needed. I sucked it down, got up, and teetered off into the gray dawn.

John was with me for this leg, and I was a walking zombie. We just walked along at about 3mph, both of us fried from lack of sleep. I felt high, my eyes couldn’t focus, and everything I looked at looked like something else. The light was playing serious tricks on me.

At one point John stopped to quickly relieve himself, and I sat down on a water meter and promptly fell asleep. He came back, woke me up, and we kept moving.

With 15 miles to go, the sun was finally up for the third time on this little adventure. It didn’t have the same effect that it had the first two mornings.

At the next exchange zone, Jeff’s crew was still there. My crew said Jeff had already come and gone and that his crew was just getting a little sleep. I said I needed to sit for two minutes. I was cooked. Like an exposed nerve or a wire stripped bare. Before I knew it two minutes was up, and it was time to move again. I just wanted to be done. This was a definite low.

Mike and I headed out again, with about 15 miles to go. My mind was playing tricks on me. I know the beach is flat, but I was so tired, and everything hurt so much, that I swear it looked like we were constantly going uphill. I argued with Mike about it as he tried to convince me that it wasn’t much of a hill at all, just a mild grade. I told him he was wrong and put my water bottle down on the ground, completely convinced that it would roll back down hill, and I would prove my point. Instead it just sat there. Okay, point taken.

With about 10 miles to go we came to a bench. It might as well have been a king size memory foam mattress. I told Mike, “I need two minutes.” I sat down, put my head on my knees, and was asleep almost instantly. Since we had taken longer to finish this leg than we should have, Tim came back to check on us. He pulled up and saw me and thought it was over, that I was done. Mike waited two minutes, called my name, and I woke up and headed on.

My feet, knees, and back were killing me, and I was developing a blister on the ball of my right foot, but I had less than 10 miles to go, so I just kept on moving.

With a little less than 8 miles to go, we were passing a gas station and saw one of Jeff’s crew coming out. I waved and asked if he had finished already. She looked surprised and said he was about a mile and a half behind me, that he had been asleep in the van at the exchange zone at mile 185. I wished them luck and said we would see them at the finish. As soon as she was out of sight, I turned to Mike and said, “We have to go.” I started to run for the first time in hours. It was around this time that we began to see evidence of the first relay teams. I cruised into the next exchange zone and headed out with Tim with 8 miles to go.

I was able to run/walk at this point, and my walking pace was a little better than 4 mph, which seemed like we were flying. After a couple of miles Tim peeled off, and I picked up Mike again for the final three miles. By this point I was running – not fast, but I was moving. The more I ran, the better I felt. The pain in my hips and knees went away, and the blister on my foot stopped hurting completely. I continued to pick up speed as I got closer to the finish.

I hooked up with what was left of my crew – Tim, John, and Mike – with a little over a mile to go. Mike ran with me to the finish, while John flagged down another crew’s van and caught a ride to the finish for himself and Tim.

The finish was something I will never forget. I was floating and feeling no pain. I crossed the line with my arms in the air and felt amazing. No fatigue, no soreness, just elation. I hugged my crew and got lots of congratulations from all sorts of different people. Strangers came up to speak and shake my hand. It was surreal. I’ll never forget it.

Before I can say anything else, I have to acknowledge my incredible crew – Dottie, Mike, Rob, John, Tim, Andy, and Jonas. You gave up days of your lives to come help me accomplish a dream. You all worked your asses off and never, ever complained about anything. You functioned on little to no sleep, not exactly gourmet food, and less then stellar conditions, but always put me first. I’m honored and humbled to have had you all in my corner and can honestly say that there is no way I could have pulled this off without you. Thank you. Thanks also to Karl, who showed up in the middle of Wednesday night to run a couple of legs with me as a complete surprise. It was an awesome pick-me-up, and I really enjoyed having you out there for a couple of hours.

I also have to thank Wendy, who never blinked when I said I wanted to do this. You were behind me 100% of the way, and your support made it possible for me to put this together and pull it off. I did this for you, because I am so proud of you and what you have accomplished. I know how hard your struggle was and how hard you have worked to become not just sober, but happy, joyous, and free in your recovery. I want others to know that there is no shame in addiction, and that there is help and hope out there for those who need it. When times got tough, and they certainly did, I thought of you, and others like you, and your struggles, and it gave me strength. I love you and am proud of you. That being said, I’m not doing this again…

Thanks to everyone who donated. Together we raised over $4,000.00 for Healing Transitions. It's not too late to donate. If you are interested in making a contribution, you can do so here.

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Transcend Endurance Running

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About this Blog

I am a 40-something husband and father of two who has been in love with running since I was nine years old. Over the last 30+ years I have continued to run when I could and think about running when I couldn't.

I started running more seriously in 2003 when I completed the Chicago Marathon. Since that time I have run over 20 marathons, countless triathlons, including two iron distance events and several ultramarathons, including the two finishes at the Umstead 100 Mile Endurance Run and one Leadville Trail 100 finish.

I use this blog to write about my training and racing throughout the year. I am not fast and will never win an event, but I enjoy the challenge and the sense of satisfaction that comes with a succesful race. The greater the challenge, the better chance for meaningful growth and self discovery.

I also provide coaching to athletes who are looking to challenge themselves, take on a new distance or just start running.

If you enjoy what you see here please pass it along to anyone you think might like it and feel free to leave a comment. After all, I won't know you're reading if I don't hear from you.